Routine
by WindyCanyon
Summary: Everyone has routines. Things they do at the start of their day, whether it be to brush their teeth, take a shower and get dressed, or some mixed up version of that. Arthur also had a routine, except it had a name. Hell, it had a number in his bloody phone.


It started out rough, crazed, impassioned. It really was just by chance they even happened to meet and continue to meet. It became habit to see each other. They didn't need it, but there was safety in routine. And slowly, almost unnoticeable, it started to become something more, something they didn't expect. Scratches on his back became less and the bite marks on Lovino's neck faded. By no means had the sex lost its pleasure. It was still the best they indulged in, but it changed. The wild knocking of the bed against the wall ceased and turned into the gentle rocking hips, like a boat on calmer waters, and kisses that left imprints on the mind but not the body. It was a comfort now. Something they both relied on to get them through the days. They began to need it just for an excuse to be close to each other. They often stared at each other just to look, perhaps to see what they desperately wanted from each other, but it usually ended in unanswered silence. They were both afraid now. The routine had been cracked. No longer were they seeing each other for meaningless sex, but to be joined in the ways lovers joined. It terrified them, but old habits don't die and they continued to see each other and they continued to have sex and they would have continued like that if it wasn't for Lovino. He was the first to shatter routine.

"I'm not going to have sex with you anymore."

"What?" In all honesty, those words came as a surprise to him. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"What are we going to do now?" It seemed inconceivable to stop having sex. Arthur enjoyed having drinks with Lovino, dining with Lovino, arguing with Lovino, but in the end, it was based on relations in the bedroom. If they got drunk, they fell into bed together. If Lovino made a delicious meal, they moved together contently. If they had an argument, they practically threw each other around until one came out on top. It all led to sex. That's the excuse they had for seeing each other.

"I guess, we'll stop seeing each other." Lovino put on his clothes, keeping his back to Arthur and his eyes turned away. "Thanks for all the...fun."

"Fun," he echoed and watched as Lovino pulled a shirt over his head.

"Yeah...Goodbye, Arthur. Maybe I'll see you at a meeting."

"Goodbye, Lovino." When had they started using true names? It occurred to him that they must have been using them for a while now. He liked Lovino's name and he liked hearing Lovino say his name, but that wouldn't be possible now. At a meeting, if they even saw each other, they would be expect to greet each other formally—distantly.

"Wait."

"What?" Lovino stopped at the door. His voice was casual, but his shoulders were tense.

"Tell me why."

Lovino looked at him for the first time since they finished. "Things change."

He didn't stop the Italian again. Those two little words shook him to his very core and left him frozen. What could they mean? What had changed? Arthur wasn't blind. He had noticed the differences, but was that really reason to end such a beneficial relationship? What they had was good. What they had was great. It didn't distract them from their everyday life, although he would admit to thinking about Lovino more than what should be allowed. It didn't require anything from them other than the occasional meet-up, although those meet-ups had become more frequent. It didn't mean anything. That was suppose to be the best part.

"It doesn't mean anything," he said to himself, as if that would make it true. Those words rung hollow on his ears. How annoying.

* * *

><p>The meeting was dragging on. He stared at the table and squribbled doodles on his paper just to give himself something to do. The droning of voices bored him, but the meeting had just come back from lunch and the end was hours away. He sighed and looked up. All the other Nations seemed just as wearied by the meeting as him. Some even more so.<p>

Out of habit, he found his gaze drifting to Lovino, who sat down the table from him. The Italian was resting his cheek on his hand with his eyes closed. He seemed to be asleep, or close to it. Arthur vaguely remembered Lovino loved to have siestas after lunch and sex. Next to him, Spain had moved his seat closer and leaned against Lovino to nap on something more comfortable than a tabletop. Arthur stifled his jealousy under annoyance at America for talking so long and loudly. He wasn't honestly feeling jealous of a wanker like Spain, that would be admitting that the Spaniard was in a superior position, and he would not degrade himself to that. But he did feel anger that Lovino would allow that idiot anywhere near him.

Lovino suddenly opened his eyes and locked gazes with him. Those sleepy eyes slowly widened as they grew more alert, and Arthur found himself unable to look away. From this distance, he couldn't admire Lovino's sleepy expression properly and Spain's presence only added to his ire. Arthur forced himself to look away and focus on the nonsense America was spewing all over the meeting. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lovino smack Spain off him and mutter some sharp insult. As much as he tried to remain indifferent, he took silent pleasure from Lovino's harsh treatment of the Spaniard.

"England, are you paying attention?" America's annoying voice broke through his gloating.

"Why the hell would I listen to a wanker like you?" He threw back angrily.

"What's with you? You've been grumpy all week." America pouted.

"Just stop talking to me. I'm in no mood to deal with you."

America looked hurt, but Arthur was too irate to care. The American turned back to the meeting and continued to chatter on. At this moment, France decided it would fancy him to lean over and speak to Arthur.

"What is on your mind, my friend?" The Frenchman purred.

"Despite what you think, we have never been friends," he growled back.

"No, we've always been a tad closer than _friends_, haven't we." France set a hand on his leg and moved it to a more private area.

He used his pen to stab France in the hand. Arthur didn't want to play coy with the idiotic blond. "Go away."

"What's wrong, dear Angleterre? Did your little Italian reject you?"

Arthur glared at France darkly. "How do you know about him?"

"You are not as discrete as you think. You've spent this entire meeting staring at him, yet he has not looked at you once." France smiled knowingly, his eyes sparkling with cruel amusement. "Doesn't that just make you furious, especially with Spain hanging all over him. What did you do to make him leave you—Ah, how would America say—high and dry?"

"He has not left me 'high and dry', as you say," Arthur snapped, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed their conversation. No one seem to and if they did, they didn't care. "I am perfectly fine not seeing him. It was only a fling, nothing more."

"Oh, poor Angleterre." France sighed sadly and flourished a hand. "Your blindness makes me want to cry out of pity, or pain."

"Shut up," Arthur said sharply and turned his nose up haughtily. "I'm not blind. Now that I think about it, our relationship was rather unhealthy."

"Perhaps at the beginning, but I know you. You're taken with that Italian, and now that he's left you, you're unhappy." France leaned so close he could feel his breath brush across his cheek and the blond's expensive perfume assaulted his nose. "Admit it, you want him for more than just his body."

"Nonsense. I knew you were an idiot, but that's just stupid." Arthur turned his face away.

"Is it really? Don't you wonder why you're so unhappy? Perhaps you're in lo—"

"Do not say that word to me. Do not even start with that shit." He glared at France. "You know better than to mention that crap around me. It was just sex. He got tired of it and now we're not having sex. That was the whole point of our relationship. Pointless, easy sex."

"Alright, alright, you've convinced me. You're not in love with him. You don't even like him. It's good he left you." France leaned back in his chair and watched him with a mocking grin. "He doesn't mean anything at all. Why'd you even screw him?"

"Oi, you're in no position to question my taste in partners. Lovino is better than all the people you've fucked."

France rose a brow. "Lovino?"

He flushed and cursed the habit of calling Lovino by his name for becoming second nature. "Go fuck yourself."

"I have someone to do that for me, unlike you. Good luck trying to get over your Italian. By now, he's probably already opening his legs for someone else."

That was it. He was done. He threw the first punch and every single one after that. All his anger and frustration was concentrated in his fists and the closest outlet was France's face. It took the combined strength of America and Canada to pull him off the other man, and even then he continued to fight and kick. He broke America's glasses with a well placed elbow to the face and practically threw Canada across the table. Only anger controlled him and Arthur almost happily let it take over as he readied himself to take on America. Anger was such a beautiful emotion. It rushed through his blood and filled him with the most exciting thrill. All without the need to question the reason behind it.

A sharp punch to his jaw sent him on his ass. Arthur looked up angrily, ready to attack whoever hit him, but froze. Lovino stood over him, staring at him coldly, and rubbed his fist.

"Tsk." He glared at Lovino and stood slowly. Arthur glanced around and saw America picking up the pieces of his glasses and Canada was wheezing by his side; he didn't even want to look at France. He turned and stormed out. Let someone else take care of the mess for once.

Arthur escaped to the bathroom and locked the door behind him. He kicked over the trash can and stomped to the sink. In mirror, he could already see a bruise blooming across his cheek and he tasted blood in his mouth. "Dammit." Arthur splashed water on his face and sighed. Without his anger to carry him, guilt weighed on his shoulders and forced him to stay hunched over sink, unable to rise or even look at himself.

The door suddenly clicked and swung open. Lovino stepped inside and closed the door again.

"Come to hit me again," Arthur sneered and turned to face Lovino. His pride hurt.

"I wouldn't have brought this if I was," Lovino growled back and held out an ice pack to him, "but keep talking to me like that and I might."

He looked away and glared at the wall. "Why are you here?"

Lovino sighed and stepped closer warily. "That was a hell of a fight you started in the fucking meeting. I left once Greece and Turkey started arm wrestling." The brunet brushed a hand across his uninjured cheek and pressed the ice pack to his cheek.

"I didn't think you'd follow me," he grumbled and avoided looking at Lovino.

"You were probably too busy feeling sorry for yourself, bastard."

"So you're not going to kiss it better?" He tapped his cheek, forcing himself to put on a malicious grin. A remnant of his pirate days.

The Italian's eyes narrowed. "Go fuck yourself."

"That's what I had you for," Arthur replied cruelly.

Tense silence fell over them, and Arthur suddenly felt guilty for speaking so harshly. He wasn't angry at Lovino and it was wrong to say such spiteful words. It was embarrassing. His anger made him speak rudely and lash out at those who got too close. It was the same with America, France, and many others. Once they betrayed him, Arthur never did forgive them. He knew of his spiteful and bitter nature, but that was the one thing he didn't want to become towards Lovino. Their relationship didn't entitle such feelings of betrayal. It was meant to be a on and off thing with no hard feelings if one or the other ever ended. He was breaking the ethic of a lust only relationship.

"Say it."

He looked away and swallowed his smarting pride. "I'm sorry."

"You're forgiven." Lovino pulled the ice pack away and looked at his cheek. "The swelling is going down. Don't ever make me punch you like that again, dammit."

Arthur took the pack from the Italian's hand and set it aside. He grasped Lovino's hand tightly and pressed it to his uninjured cheek. "Why did you cut me off?

"You don't want to have this conversation. Let go, Arthur." Lovino looked away and weakly tried to pull his hand away.

"You didn't even give me any warning signs that you were bored," he mumbled and pressed his thumb against the smooth skin of Lovino's wrist. A pulse fluttered under his finger and he quietly reassured himself that Lovino was really there. "I thought we were still having...fun together."

"Fun," Lovino echoed, looking strangely disappointed. "Yes, we had a lot of fun. Are you really so fucking blind?"

"What do you want from me!" He dropped Lovino's hand and glared at him, suddenly angry with the brunet.

"It isn't what I want. I don't want anything from you, you fucking idiot." Lovino took a step back and returned his glare. "It's what you want."

"I want...you," Arthur answered honestly. He wanted to take Lovino right now, in fact. It'd been weeks since he'd felt the Italian pressed against him, skin against skin. This immediate moment was the closest they'd been since Lovino walked out of his flat.

"Why?"

"I...I don't understand what you're asking." That was a lie.

"Then figure it out, Arthur, and figure it out fast." Lovino jabbed a finger at him, thoroughly pissed. "I'm not a patient man, dammit, and there are others just as pleasing as you to have 'fun' with."

Anger rose up and he grabbed Lovino. Arthur pressed their lips together roughly. The Italian didn't fight, didn't even say a word. He didn't stop Arthur when he unbuckled Lovino's pants, shoving them down to his ankles, and pressed him against the sink.

Desperately, he tried to provoke a reaction by pressing his lips to Lovino's neck, biting the skin harshly, but the brunet never made a sound. The taste of Lovino's skin soon made him forget the man's silence. It'd been too long since he gotten to taste—touch—_feel_ Lovino. He wanted more. He wanted to feel him next to him in the mornings, catch his scent on his sheets, taste his lips whenever he please, and devour him till there was nothing left for anyone else. Ever.

It was all too much, these feelings. Arthur forced himself away from Lovino and felt colder for it. With a little distance, his mind sought to define this desire that lit him aflame and shove it away some dark place. He looked at Lovino and barely restrained himself going back to him. The brunet sat half on the sink, his pants around his ankles and shirt torn open, and stared at him with an unreadable expression.

His mind interrupt the battle with his body to announce what he feared most. Terror suddenly gripped him and he took another step back before turning and fleeing the bathroom completely. Lovino's face followed him, while his mind declared its findings to the beating of his frightened heart. Arthur stopped once the screaming of his lungs drowned out the screaming of his mind, and caught his breath. He waited only long enough for his lungs to catch up, and fled to his car. He needed a drink.

* * *

><p>It took a week locked in his house and ten bottles of rum for Arthur to think about Lovino without having a melt down. It took another five bottles to get him to stop looking at his phone like he could convey to Lovino through the digital device how shitty he felt. One more bottle just to get him off the couch and into the shower, and one last glass to get him out the door. He had the cab stop by a pub on the way to the airport for a scotch or two. He downed a few glasses of wine on the flight and watched the scenery down below with lethargic interest. By the time he reached Lovino's home, Arthur realized he was too drunk to do anything but sit on the porch steps and listen to the silence of the Italian countryside.<p>

It was dark and Lovino was probably asleep. He sighed, laying back when he couldn't sit up anymore. If he was sober, he would have probably thought to get up and find a hotel (Then again, if he was sober, he wouldn't have been able to even make it all the way to Italy), but Arthur couldn't think past Lovino's porch. If he'd been a little drunker, he would have climbed the steps and taken the key in the plant pot, and open the door. But, being neither sober nor drunk enough, Arthur stayed where he was and stared at Lovino's silver cloaked garden. It was beautiful. Arthur remembered watching Lovino work hard to care for his plants; it was one of the few times he'd seen Lovino put effort into something other than cooking and love making. He made a silent wish for this moment to last forever, because he feared what tomorrow would bring him. For now, he was content to forever lay on the porch of the man he loved and stare out on the beloved garden.

...

Light pierced his eyes through his lids and he swallowed dryly. The pounding in his head was unbearable and his whole body protested loudly. Arthur sat up and wiped the crust from his eyes, looking around blearily. For a moment, he didn't recognize where he was, but it soon came back to him.

He stood up quickly and almost groaned at the pain in his back. Sleeping on steps was probably the stupidest thing he'd done for his age. A blanket fell off his shoulders and he stared at the material in surprise. It was unlikely he'd brought a blanket in his drunken stupor, and it was warmer than any of his old, holey quilts. Arthur picked up the blanket folded it carefully and held it to his chest.

The early morning light worsened his headache and drove him further into the shadow of the porch. Arthur noticed the door was slightly ajar and hesitated crossing the threshold. He didn't remember it being open last night, not that he could remembered much of anything from the blur of memories. Quietly, Arthur crept into the house and shut the door behind him. Everything was silent, as most things were in the moments before the sun rose above the horizon. It was still too early for Lovino to be awake and, knowing the Italian, it would be many hours before he dare ventured into the waking world.

Arthur tiptoed into the kitchen and found a box sitting on the table, as if waiting for him. He picked it up and blinked. It was his favorite blend of tea. Lovino didn't drink tea, but after enough complaining from Arthur, the Italian finally broke down and bought tea for him. It made sense at the time, considering how often Arthur use to come and stay, but he would have expected Lovino to throw it out by now, if out of spite alone. In a daze, he used Lovino's coffee maker to boil water and make tea. He sat at the table with his cup and stared into space.

Lovino's kitchen wasn't overly big, but without Lovino flitting back and forth, it seemed huge and empty without the Italian. It smelled like all the wonderful meals Lovino had ever cook. The Italian use to cook him dinner or breakfast after they were done having sex. It was one of the reasons Arthur would linger after they were finished. No matter how foul the Italian's mouth could be, his cooking made up for every bit of profanity. It was even better than Lovino was in bed.

The combination of warm tea and fond memories made his eyes droop, and soon Arthur laid his head on his arms and fell asleep. He didn't wake again until the smell of coffee filled his senses along with the sizzle of eggs on the stove. Arthur opened one eyes and peered around. Lovino leaned against the counter, coffee in hand, and watched him. The brunet wore his bathrobe and his usual sour expression. His usual scornful air clung to him, but the morning seemed to dampen its harshness and Lovino's mussed curls only added to the bleary edges of late morning.

Arthur sat up and looked at Lovino. "Good morning," he said quietly.

"What did I say when you're in my kitchen?" Lovino scowled at him over his coffee.

He blinked for a moment, trying to remember. Finally, it hit him. Lovino made a rule that Arthur was to speak the little Italian he did know when in his kitchen. It was one of those things that developed when the sex ceased to matter and Lovino had to deal with him more often with their clothes on. "Oh, mi dispiace. Buongiorno." Arthur smiled, but let it drop when Lovino's expression didn't change.

Lovino turned away and divided eggs between two plates. The brunet dropped a plate in front of him without a single thought, and Arthur jumped at the loud clatter. He looked at Lovino with quick glances and decided the Italian wasn't angry, just his usual irritated, sleepy self.

"Lovino, I—"

"Stai zitto." Lovino's voice held an edge that snapped his jaw shut. "Eat your food."

They ate in silence. Forks scraped against plates, but not a single word broke the quiet between them. Arthur rubbed his head, trying to ward off the headache. He wished that he'd never drank those last few glasses of wine. Hot food in his stomach made him feel a bit better, but the weight of the air was crushing. Arthur scrambled for something to say—something to explain why he was there, but he'd never been very good at saying what he felt. Perhaps, it would have been better if he'd written a letter. Arthur nearly laughed at how ridiculous it would be to send Lovino a letter. The Italian would probably have flown all the way to England just to tear it up in his face.

The Italian stood suddenly and set their plates in the sink. Lovino turned to him and let his eyes stray over Arthur's rumpled clothes and generally exhausted appearance. "What the hell do you want?"

Suddenly confronted with Lovino, his mind went blank. To be honest, he hadn't thought this far ahead. Arthur had expected Lovino to throw him out on sight and slay him with a few well placed insults. What could he say? He was afraid. A single harsh word from the man in front of him and Arthur would be destroyed. Sliced in two by eyes he loved so much. He hated it. He loved it. Feeling so vulnerable was not a positioned Arthur was use to, but he wouldn't allow himself to lie any longer—not to Lovino, not even to himself.

"I...I love you."

The words hung in the air, waiting for Lovino to welcome them or smack them to the ground. Arthur clenched his fists, sure of where he stood in Lovino's heart, but he wanted to hear it from the Italian. He wanted to watch that mouth open, take a bite out of his heart, chew it up and spit it out again, all the while laughing at him.

Then, Lovino did something he didn't expect. Lovino smiled at him.

"About damn time."


End file.
